


Underwater In The Bathroom, Stay ‘Til Equilibrium

by flammable_heart



Series: YOUR HOUSE, MY HOUSE [1]
Category: Only Lovers Left Alive (2013), Only Lovers Left Alive (2013) RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Depression, Exes, F/M, References to Depression, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29113470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flammable_heart/pseuds/flammable_heart
Summary: After a long day, your depressive feelings have you in a sad state. To remedy that, you take a bath and play your favorite sad girl Spotify playlist. Your ex Adam knows exactly what's going on, and can't help but want to put you in a better place.
Relationships: Adam (Only Lovers Left Alive)/Reader, Adam (Only Lovers Left Alive)/You
Series: YOUR HOUSE, MY HOUSE [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136114
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Underwater In The Bathroom, Stay ‘Til Equilibrium

**Author's Note:**

> 18+ READERS ONLY
> 
> WARNINGS: angst, mentions of depression, smut (vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, bath sex)
> 
> So this is a new series with my favorite boy Adam! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> 💜

There are more bad days than good —your depression gets the better of you and you dislike your job, but it’s what you’ve got at the moment. The best thing you can think to do when you get home on days like this is to get straight into the bathtub. It’s a huge old claw-footed monster, something Adam must have dragged in off the street when he realized you liked baths two years ago. You’d been happy then—the cluttered mess of this house felt like home any time you visited. Now, even on your best days you feel like a stranger, wandering the halls, touching things you’re not supposed to be touching, just to feel close to him. 

You’re a million miles apart, and you live in the same house.

It’s been nearly six months since Adam broke things off, reminding you what he was, how things could never work between you two. You’d told him you loved him—too little, too late. And yet after a month of radio silence, you’d gone back to seeing him, enjoying your time with one another far too much to let go of the friendship that had bloomed between you. It’s a strange situation to say the least, but you wouldn’t trade it away just because it’s slightly difficult. And maybe it’s only difficult because you’re making it that way—that ache in your chest any time you brush by him in the kitchen or when you hear him playing in the middle of the night. Adam let you move in three months ago, on the basis that you could pay your bills much easier if you weren’t paying rent. And it’s been wonderfully quiet, but sometimes the quiet drives you crazy.

Julien Baker’s ‘Appointments’ echoes off the walls of the crowded bathroom as your muscles settle into the steaming water. This song always makes you cry, and you can feel the telltale prick in the corners of your eyes when the chorus hits. You’re not sure if it’s her voice or the cords that play in the background, but Julien Baker kills you every time you listen to her. It’s the perfect music for your mood, and something by Phoebe Bridgers follows it up, your eyes drifting closed. 

He can tell when you’ve had a bad day as soon as the door slams, but when you trudge up the stairs and go straight to the bathroom to run a bath, Adam knows it's something deeper. Soccer Mommy, Liza Anne, Julien Baker and Phoebe Bridgers play for nearly 20 minutes before he pulls his old Gibson out, strumming a few times before he decides what to play. The first time he had played for you, he’d wanted it to be something you’d recognize, not something he’d written a century earlier for some famous asshole. So he’d played ‘Cinder and Smoke’ by Iron & Wine, a hauntingly sad song; a mood he’d felt in you the very first time you’d met. It was in him too—that sadness he couldn’t quite name, an aching apathy for all things human and mundane. But with you, that feeling had abated some.

His fingers deftly caress the frets as he starts to play, his room only six feet down the hall from where you’re laying in the tub. And about halfway through he loses the sound of your music, paused in favor of listening to him, the rumble of Sam Beam’s words in his chest as he sings. 

It’s hard for you not to want to listen to Adam playing over your worn out Spotify playlist, but you resist for a little while. The sound of his voice drifting through closed doors puts that ache right back in your chest, and you dip your head below the waterline, the watery echo of acoustic chords following you. By the time you sit up again all you can hear is the low baritone of Adam humming, bouncing off the walls in the hallway. Time to get moving for the evening, or so you assume before you hear the slight knock on the door. He doesn’t say anything, and you can’t imagine what he would need, but you tell him to come in anyway. It’s not like he’s never seen you naked before, and if he’s knocking, it must be somewhat urgent. Adam never disturbs you unless it’s absolutely necessary.

He doesn’t know why the overwhelming urge to hold you takes him when it does, though he could hear you crying through the walls. It’s not the first time he’s heard it, but instead of just poking his head in to make sure you’re okay as he’d intended, Adam finds himself inside the bathroom, half open shirt pulled over his head before you can say anything. He knows it’s a bad idea to engage in any kind of intimacy with you—you love him, and he does not want to hurt you further. But he can’t just let you sit here alone. Pants discarded on the floor, he watches you slide forward in the tub, a silent invitation. And he lowers himself into the still hot water, legs too long to extend fully, a lanky arm wrapped around your chest to beckon you backwards.

You breathe out slowly as you lean back into Adam, his smooth skin cool compared to the air in the room, your fingers tracing circles into his exposed knees and finally coming to rest on his thighs. There’s no spoken questions, no reason today should be any different than the others, yet here he is, his steady breathing anchoring you back to the world. His lips find their way into your wet hair and he breathes in your scent before humming a few bars of that familiar song. A tear slips down your cheek, his arms hugging you tighter to him as you turn your head to kiss his shoulder. And this would be fine, if you couldn’t feel his cock hard and pulsing on your back, if his lips weren’t trailing from the back of your ear, down your neck, teeth scraping skin, your breath catching in your throat.

His intentions had been pure at the beginning—to sit and hold you for a little while, to lift the darkness. But he cannot be this close to you and not  _ touch _ you. He hears that little gasp and he wants more of it, lets one of his hands slide down over your belly, water level dangerously high as you shift just slightly, his fingers gliding through your folds. Now he’s the one aching, breath caught in his chest when you whine, pressing yourself into the heel of his hand. His middle finger circles your opening, teasing before he presses into that familiar heat, his thumb sliding lightly against your most sensitive bundle of nerves. And he gets the reaction he’s looking for, your wet fingers in his messy hair, a breathy moan tearing from your throat as his fangs scrap against your neck again.

It’s always too much with Adam—your blood heating in your veins, skin aching to be bitten though you know he won't. It’s been so long since anyone has touched you and he curls his finger inside of you, your mouth opening but no sound coming out. The way your belly instantly tightens, right on the edge so immediately is absolutely delicious. But his fingers aren’t enough, his thumb still just teasing your clit, only one finger sunk into you and pumping languidly. So you dig your nails into his thigh, leveraging yourself up onto your knees, water splashing out of the tub with the sudden movement. You don’t care, just want your lips on his, his mouth welcoming you home, tongue caressing yours hungrily. Dragging your core along his hard length, you taste his moan and slide up, his teeth against your chin, hands on your ass and squeezing. You curse when you feel the head of his swollen cock rub against your already too sensitive clit, and without thinking you sink down onto it, taking his whole length in one swift movement. God it hurts to be stretched so much, but it feels so goddamned good to be so full again after so long. 

He lets you settle onto him, though he wants to drive up into you, water still sloshing onto the tile floor as his nose brushes yours, kissing you achingly hard, fingers digging into your skin. Your hands are in his hair when you finally start to move, hips rolling down painfully slowly, your teeth in his lip trying to draw blood. But it's not his own blood he wants to taste, his hands running up your back, one resting on the back of your neck as you pull away slightly. He takes the opportunity to lower his head, tongue flicking out over one of your nipples as he presses up into you. He relishes in the whimpers he draws from you, teeth nipping at your hardened nipple, sucking the soft skin of your breast as your head falls back. 

You don’t want to come, want this to last forever in the steamy silence of the tiny bathroom. God but you’re desperate for him as he pumps up into you, head snapping up and mouth hanging open slightly as your eyes meet. It’s such a brief moment of weightlessness, his watery eyes feral with longing, and you kiss him, palms pressed to his chest as you rock against him. And that’s all it takes, that shift in position, his hand back on your ass and pressing you into him, and you’re falling apart. 

Shaking, he holds you tightly, pressing into you as his own release comes fast and hard, his body spasming against yours. Your walls clenched tightly around him milks him more than he ever could himself. Then he feels your head on his shoulder, lips on his throat as he murmurs nonsense into your hair. It’s fleeting, but he wants to hold onto this moment, to you just as you are, right now. The air is cold when you finally pull away, your thumb smoothing across his eyebrow, drawing a line down his parted lips. “Are you okay?” His voice is terribly soft, so soft that there’s no echo off the tiled walls.

And you nod, unable to find your voice, knowing you’ll cry if you speak. That’s when you use his shoulders to push yourself up and out of the water, grabbing your towel though the floor is soaking. You wrap the soft fabric around yourself, Adam still watching you as you pad out of the bathroom and down the hall to your room. He wants to follow, you know he does, but it’s better if he doesn’t. Better to let you drown in dreams than to join you again so soon.


End file.
